It seemed to me in that moment of the fall that he was between the horse and the cliff as he went over the edge, for the forefeet of the horse struck his legs and threw him backward, and the last thing that I minded was seeing his head against the horse's mane in some way.

That last glimpse will bide with me until I forget all things.
It seemed very long before our friends came back with the ropes.
Backwards and forwards in front of us flew untiringly two ravens, now flying across the gorge, and then again almost brushing us with their wings as they swept up the face of the cliff from below.

We thought they had a nest somewhere close at hand, for it was their time.
"If Erpwald were dead," I said presently, "those birds would not be so restless.

It is hard to think that they know where he is and how he fares; but at least they tell us that he is not yet prey for them." Backward and forward they swept, until my eyes grew dazed with watching them, and then suddenly they both croaked their alarm note, wheeled quickly away from the cliff's face, and fled across the gorge and were gone.
Then was a rattle of stones, and a shout from some one in the track below, and I started and saw a head slowly rising above the edge of the cliff as if its owner had climbed up to us.

White and streaked with blood was the face, but it was not crushed or marred, and it was Erpwald's.
"Lend me a hand," he said, as we stared at him, as one needs must stare at one who comes back as it were from the grave.